Fire of Heaven
by Montanasky4
Summary: Tonight he would be her canvas, heavenly fire or no heavenly fire. Post City of Lost Souls. Pre City of Heavenly Fire.


Clary's legs were tired. She'd been standing in front of her easel for hours. She placed the piece of soft chalk pastel she was holding back into its case. Her head tilted to the side as she examined her work. Shaking her head, she raised her arms to the pad and tore the paper off. She crumbled it up with perhaps a bit more violence than was required and tossed it across the room to the trash bin, already overflowing with previously discarded works. The ball of paper bounced off another and landed on the floor of her bedroom.

She took one look at the fresh page in front of her before turning and collapsing onto her bed, face down. _What's wrong with me?_ she wondered. Clary had not been able to manifest a single decent piece of artwork in weeks; she couldn't even remember the last time she did. At first she would stare at a blank canvas or page on her sketchpad for hours without an idea coming to her, now nothing she did manage to draw or paint seemed to satisfy her.

"I'm broken," she mumbled into her pillow. She proceeded to kick her legs like a child throwing a tantrum, even doing so much as to bang her fists against the bed, satisfied only when every pillow had been knocked off. The only pillow that remained was the one she smothered her face into. Realizing that it might not be a good idea to suffocate herself over her lack of artistic inspiration, Clary rolled over, her red curls spilling around her on the bed like a lion's mane.

Staring up at her ceiling, Clary noticed the hard tapping of the rain against the rooftop above and the whirling of the wind against her window. The weather seemed to match her mood. There was the squeak of her doorknob turning, expecting it to be her mother, she didn't look up. When she heard nothing more, she slowly raised her head.

Jace stood before her in all of his angelic glory; if angels still looked glorious while soaked to the bone.

Clary snapped into an upright position. "Jace..."

Jace remained silent, shrugging off his soaking wet jacket; it landed on the floor with a loud thud. Clary's eyebrows drew together, unsure what to make of him. The expression on his face was incredulous. He'd only been allowed out the Institute's infirmary a week, but even then, the Silent Brothers had instructed him to keep his activity to a minimum. She wondered how smart it was for him to be parading from the City to Brooklyn in a torrential downpour. Either way, she was still happy to see him. Despite being cleared from the infirmary, their contact had been minimal as of late. She missed him more than she cared to admit.

Jace hadn't moved. Still as a statue he continued to stare at Clary, blinking only when water from his rain-soaked hair dripped into his eyes.

They exchanged no words, they didn't need to. Clary raised open arms up towards Jace, beckoning him. In that instant he went forward, practically stumbling onto the bed and into her welcoming embrace. He tucked his face into the crook of her neck and his arms wrapped gently around her waist. She could discern no injuries, but that didn't stop her from running her hands along the length of his back.

Soon enough Clary felt the dampness of her own shirt as Jace's wet form pressed against her. He remained clung to her; reaching for the hem of his shirt, she peeled it off of his back and over his head. Clary discarded the shirt over the side of her bed, not caring about her shaggy rug below. Staring at Jace's glistening body, she almost lost her ability to think. She couldn't recall the last time they were alone together like this—not since Paris, she mused. Her eyes dropped to the waistband of his jeans.

Clary licked her lips. "Your jeans are soaked through." How the words managed to come out intelligibly, she had no idea.

Jace's own gaze dropped down as he contemplated his options. Jace knew full well that he under no circumstances should remove his pants. Resigning, he released the button of his jeans and stood to shrug off the offensive fabric.

The lack of contact from Jace sent a cold chill through Clary's body. Momentarily forgetting herself, she allowed her eyes to scan up and down his body. The lighting of her room made his skin look paler than it's usual golden pallor, only making the black runes stand out more. Her gaze came to a halt just below his belly button. She noted that the rain had no problem soaking through his jeans and persisted through to his boxers. Clary could easily see the outline of his body beneath the lightly colored fabric. She swallowed, the sound seemed to echo in her ears. She had to close her eyes so that she could pull her gaze away. Opening them to Jace's face, she recognized the look of desire in his eyes, knowing that it matched her own. Craving his warmth again, she pulled him back into her arms.

Clary rolled onto her back, taking Jace with her. His lips peppered small kisses along her pale skin. They both knew it was wrong, that they shouldn't be getting this close with the sacred fire still running through Jace's veins, but neither of them uttered a word. As his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh of her neck, Clary's own hands ran along the skin of his back. She soon noticed the colorful streaks left behind from the chalk dust that coated her hands. Tonight he would be her canvas, heavenly fire or no heavenly fire.

Jace sucked in air as Clary's nails raked his skin on his back, reminding him of another time, another place; all the more reason for him to stop, but he wouldn't, he couldn't. It had been torture for him, seeing her on a daily basis, constantly surrounded by Silent Brothers and the Lightwoods at the Institute. It wasn't just his lack of alone time with Clary that driving him crazy. Nearly everything was driving him crazy. For one, there was his conscience; the memories of his time with Jonathan were at the forefront of his mind, the atrocities he committed, and the fact that for the most part, it had been his idea. He usually referred to those memories being _his_ or _him_ , the version of himself under Jonathan's control. But sometimes those two personas became entwined, particularly in his dreams.

Since waking up in the infirmary, it seemed to be a never ending round of questions and inquiries about Jonathan, and sometimes that's what made it worst of all. As much as he tried to escape it, he couldn't. The Clave was out for blood—Jonathan's blood. It seemed that Jace was along for the ride. Everyone in the immediate area of New York knew what had transpired, although thankfully not the finer details, but even Clary's mother, Jocelyn, was privy to many of his actions. Jace did his best and kept what he could from the Silent Brothers but that was hard to do when they go poking around in your brain. Still, the Brothers weren't a bunch of gossipers, for that he was grateful. So, unless Jocelyn was attending full scale meetings with the Clave, there was a chance she was not aware of the majority of his actions. He could swear he imagined it, but sometimes he caught Jocelyn looking at him, the expression incredulous as it was, he couldn't tell what she thought of him anymore.

The same went for Maryse, who had been the only mother he'd ever known. He was sure that it had more to do with her fairly new responsibilities, but even Jace was aware that Maryse likely knew more about what happened when he was bonded with Jonathan than he'd even shared with Izzy and Alec. Maryse didn't take time to speak to him much, other than to ask him if he remembered anything else and if the sacred fire still inhabited his body. Then there was Alec. Alec was going through his recent breakup with Magnus. Although Jace deeply cared for his parabatai, Alec had become a vacuum of depression lately, moping around examining his final conversation with Magnus over and over again that Jace could likely recite it verbatim. Izzy was rarely ever without her vampire shadow, unless of course she was in the Institute. Conversations with Isabelle often circled around her wardrobe and her new caché of fashionable yet convenient weapons that had come to be in her possession. And when Simon was around, Jace had caught himself actually becoming fond of the downworlder's company—not that he'd ever let on to such a development. But how much could you really stand someone's company, really? If Simon asked his opinion on another band name, he might decide to be done with it and stake him in the heart to put him out of his misery. Jace couldn't understand how Clary did it. Well, he did enjoy her company, he was in fact enjoying it very much, particularly at that moment.

Even after he was cleared to leave the infirmary he was barely left alone with his girlfriend. He considered it for the best, otherwise he would've been tempted to pounce on her—just as he was now—not that he hadn't imagined doing so for weeks. It was driving him mad, particularly when his daydreaming often brought back the memory of the night in Paris, when he had temporarily been freed from his ties to Jonathan. Oh, how he had wanted to share himself with Clary, but his conscience returned him to his senses. But now that he was free and well—sort of—just the idea of being near Clary set his blood boiling, literally. He was going mad, as surely he was at the very moment as his hands tugged at the fabric of Clary's t-shirt, ridding her of it. He sucked in air, rather sharply at the sight of her milky skin, exposed just for him. He loved her, he truly did. He loved her red hair, the freckles that adorned her skin, he loved every inch of her, all the parts he knew and he looked forward to loving the parts he would come to know.

"Clarissa." He realized it was the first time he'd spoken since entering the room.

He pressed his mouth to hers and when he pulled back her green eyes sparkled up at him. Holding himself up one elbow, he looked her body up and down. The only barriers between them were her drawstring shorts and his boxers. One of Jace's hands gently smoothed its way down her stomach until he hooked his fingers into the top of her shorts. There was no hesitation in Clary's expression, it was almost as if she was daring him to do it. So he did. Jace tugged at the fabric and it came away easy enough, particularly once Clary lifted her hips from the bed. He slid her shorts from her smooth legs and tossed them over his shoulder. He kissed her belly button quickly before trailing kisses back up toward her face. He knew that this was the closest they've come and he didn't want to do anything too fast or too abrasive that Clary couldn't handle. He was at her mercy, really.

Clary's hands were in his hair, tangling in his golden tresses. His lips were at her collarbone now. Lost in his kisses as she was, she didn't miss the moment his hand came to grasp her breast. She gasped in pleasure. Jace took that as his cue to take her nipple into his mouth. Clary's back arched so that her breasts were pushing towards him. His tongue swirled and his lips sucked until he was satisfied that her nipple was taut. Moving onto the next left Clary going wild beneath her skin.

Jace was enjoying taking his time, very much so. But he could feel it, the fire within. His heart rate increased and he could feel the rush of heat through his veins. While his mouth was busy at Clary's breast, the rest of him was occupied with keeping the fire at bay. His heart was beating too fast; he could feel the fire burning its way to the surface. Jace pulled away from her chest and kissed her stomach once then twice. He leaned his forehead against the soft skin of her stomach.

"Jace?"

One beat. Another.

"I just need a moment."

One beat.

"Do you want to stop?"

Jace smiled against her skin. "No." To emphasize his point he pressed his pelvis to her body, pushing her deeper into the bed.


End file.
